Judging Jo Pa

One hears it often, even from those who aren't especially religious: "Judge not." If we we're honest with ourselves, what we usually mean when we appeal to this divine command is, "Don't judge me," while simultaneously permitting ourselves to judge others, often with a vengeance. We expect everyone else to be lenient with ourselves, but we are ruthlessly strict with them. Of course, this attitude is precisely the opposite of what Christ meant when He said:

Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get. Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? (Matthew 7:1-3)

So I was not particularly surprised when the nation (with the exception of Penn State devotees) came with their torches and pitchforks to Joe Paterno's door. By now, everyone who has not been living under a rock is nauseatingly familiar with the details of the case: Paterno's defensive coordinator and sometime-philanthropist Jerry Sandusky has been accused of child sex abuse and several Penn State officials charged with covering it up. An inappropriate encounter in a shower, a janitor too timid to tell the police what he had seen. A sordid affair indeed.

And then the bombshell: under mounting media pressure the Penn State Board of Directors voted unanimously to fire Paterno as head coach, refusing to let him retire at the end of the season, as he had proposed. And so the career of one of the longest serving and, arguably, best loved coaches in college football ends in a cloud of ignominy, with no reference to Jo Pa's complete innocence under the civil law, and rather mitigated guilt under the moral law. After all, he did not personally witness any abuse. He reported his second-hand information to his superiors in the University who told him, "Sit tight, we'll handle it."

Not that any of these considerations matters to the angry mob. They're mad. They hardly understand why they're mad but, damn it, they're mad! We might call this immediate, unconsidered reaction of outrage--as a priest friend of mine has--the "Nancy Grace Syndrome". It seems, sadly, that righteous indignation has become something of a national pastime. Surely there are other, more moderate views out there. I refer the reader to Father Robert Barron's Word on Fire Blog for just such a view. But they are not in the majority.

Quite frankly, I wonder very much whether, were I in Jo Pa's position, I would have acted differently. But this at least is clear: if I am to be judged according to the standard with which I judge others, I opt for leniency.

Come Rack, Come Rope

I recently read (twice) English novelist Evelyn Waugh's life of St. Edmund Campion, the Jesuit priest who was martyred under Elizabeth I. Perhaps it is a certain Shakespearean quality--a kind of tragicomedy--about Campion's story that draws me to him. Perhaps it is the surprisingly contemporary character of his story--his Gospel of peace and reconciliation increasingly perceived as a threat to Crown and State. In any case, I cannot help but admire this brilliant and brave companion of Jesus.

Campion began his career as an Oxford scholar, and proved himself among the brightest lights of the University. He won the good favor of the Queen when she made her famous visit to Oxford in 1569, and even earned the patronage of the Earl of Leicester, the Queen's favorite suitor. He was ordained a deacon in the newly established Church of England, and commenced his Theology studies.

As he studied the Church Fathers, however, his conscience weighed heavier and heavier upon him. Was it possible that the true religion, as Christ had intended it, had remained hidden for 1500 years, only to be revealed in these last days to a few English elites? He sought the good opinion of every learned person he thought might be able to resolve his doubts, but in vain.

Not yet desiring the life of an outlaw, he attempted to buy himself time by traveling to Dublin to assist with the establishment of the University there (later Trinity College). However, this endeavor was short-lived, and in 1571 he fled to France. At the English College at Douai, a haven for Catholic ex-patriots, he was reconciled to the Catholic Church, and began his studies for priesthood.

After ordination, Campion traveled to Rome, where he joined the Society of Jesus. His early years as a Jesuit were spent teaching in Vienna and Prague. But in 1580 a mission to England was established, with Jesuits at the helm. Their mission was a dangerous one, as the Mass was banned, and any priest found saying Mass, or any lay man or woman found harboring a priest for the purpose of saying Mass, was considered guilty of treason.

Still, Campion's small group, entering England by different ports, disguised as merchants and assuming false names, were able to slip past the authorities. For the next year they preached and administered the sacraments to those English men and women who remained faithful to Rome, moving from house to house, rarely staying more than a night. This proved a difficult task, as the Crown employed informants, professional "priest-hunters", such as the infamous George Eliot.

It was no suprise, therefore, that on 15 July 1581, Campion and his companions were discovered. Campion's arms were bound, and a piece of paper bearing the inscription "CAMPION THE SEDITIOUS JESUIT" was stuck in his hat. He was led to the Tower of London, where he was met by the Queen herself. Elizabeth asked Campion whether he acknowledged her as his rightful Queen, and promised wealth and high office in her church if he would renounced his faith. Campion acknowledged that she was his rightful Queen, but refused to renounce his faith.

After many grueling months of torture, which included being racked twice, and theological debate with Anglican scholars who refused him the use of texts or notes, Campion and his companions were collectively tried for treason. They were quickly convicted and sentenced to death, at which the group sang the Te Deum laudamus. Upon the scaffold at Tyburn, Campion prayed that the Queen have a long and peaceful reign. He was then hanged until he was half dead, his genitals cut off, his bowels torn out, and his mangled body beheaded and quartered, the parts to be disposed with according to Her Majesty's pleasure.

In a letter to his mentor, Cardinal William Allen, Campion wrote, "I have made a free oblation of myself to His Divine Majesty, both for life and death, and I hope He will give me grace and force to perform; and this is all I desire."

Saint Edmund Campion, pray for us!

Journey

I confess that I have had my fair share of frustrations with the Church. Or, more accurately, I have had my fair share of frustrations with people--of both high and low station--within the Church. I have repeatedly been vexed by the unkindness, incompetence, and sheer stupidity within its ranks.

And yet, despite the flaws of so many of its members, I cannot help but love the Body of Christ. Even in those moments when my frustration is most acute, I cannot help but appreciate the charity, strength and wisdom one finds in this community of faith. Indeed, twenty four years after my baptism, I frequently think to myself, "I think I'll convert to Catholicism today!"

Of late, nothing has affirmed that re-commitment like Father Robert Barron's Catholicism project. In his television documentary, currently airing on PBS stations around the country, and in its companion volume of the same name, Fr. Barron provides a delightful synthesis of Catholic faith and life. He draws not only on the Church's long and rich theological tradition, but also her art, architecture, music, and history. He invokes the wisdom of Augustine and Aquinas, the genius of Michelangelo and Bernini, and the faith of John Paul II and Mother Teresa. He takes one on pilgrimage from Jerusalem to Rome, and from new York to Calcutta. In short, Fr. Barron offers a faith that is truly incarnational, in contrast with the impenetrably abstract and ultimately unsatisfying spiritualities on the market today.

In the scenes of his documentary and in the pages of his book, God becomes incarnated, enfleshed, for the spiritual seeker. Here is the God who reveals Himself in the person of Jesus Christ, the God who deigns to live and move among His people, who identifies with them.

I highly recommend both the film and the book to every spiritual seeker, whether she be a novice or a proficient, with a prayer that she enjoy this "journey to the heart of the faith"!

Happy Halloween/Oiche Shamhna

I love Halloween. I always have. I love dressing up, telling ghost stories and watching horror movies, visiting haunted houses. Further, I think that there is something very psychologically and spiritually healthy about taking a long, hard look at evil and death, and even having a laugh at their expense. As C.S. Lewis said, "The devil cannot stand to be mocked." Here is a levity that comes from the Christian consciousness that evil and death no longer have any power over us.

Still, I recognize that Halloween is the object of no small amount of criticism in Christian circles, particularly in more fundamentalist circles. These generally well-intentioned Christians frequently (and often accurately) cite the pagan origins of Halloween, especially in the Irish harvest festival of Samhain (pronounced SOW-in). They say that such pre-Christian observances have no place in Christian life, that they are at best syncratistic, at worst idolatrous.

But what, historically, has been the Church's attitude toward pre-Christian cultures? What has been her missionary philosophy? Our modern term inculturation describes this ancient phenomenon aptly. Inculturation is the principle by which Christian missionaries affirm all that is good and true and beautiful in a culture, and reconcile it to the Christian faith. One recalls especially the great Jesuit missionaries of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, priests like Matteo Ricci, who so insinuated himself into Chinese culture as to become Chinese himself. He donned the garb of a Mandarin scholar, and so impressed the Imperial Court with his knowledge of astronomy and mathematics that he was able to convert a good number of them to Christ.

At the basis of the inculturation principle is the assumption that one can be fully Irish or Chinese or whatever AND fully Christian. After all, if Christ could be fully divine and fully human, so also could Ricci's converts be fully Christian and fully Chinese.

Which brings us back to Halloween/Samhain. The missionaries that first preached the Gospel to the Irish knew intuitively that they could not simply level Irish culture and build Christian culture atop it. Beyond being impractical, it is simply impossible, since Christian culture as such does not exist. Rather, they affirmed and reconciled Irish culture to Christian faith. The festival of Samhain was not only a harvest festival, but also a festival of the dead, a time when the spirit world was considered particularly close to our own. Christian missionaries recognized in this belief a shadow of the Christian belief in the communion of the saints, the connectedness of all who have died in Christ. Largely due to the experience of the Irish missionaries, Pope Gregory III (d. 741) fixed the date for the Feast of All Saints (or "All Hallows") on November 1.

Centuries later, Halloween/Samhain remains a festival in which we recall the reality and the imminence of the spirit world, in which we laugh at the devil and laugh with the saints, when we honor the God who reconciles all peoples and cultures to Himself, who has destroyed death and darkness forever.

"Got Hermeneutic?"

As I left class today, I passed by an older gentleman and a young lady seated at a table full of multilingual Bibles and various brightly colored pamphlets.  They seemed pleasant enough, unlike the "judgement and damnation" types that usually loiter around college campuses, so I stopped to chat.  The couple, it turned out, were father and daughter.  They were Jehovah's Witnesses.

Our differences of theological opinion quite naturally came up.  Our chosen topics of discussion were standard fare for Catholics and fundamentalists.  We talked about the divine inspiration and canonicity of the Biblical books, the origin of Catholic feasts and seasons, the veneration of the Saints, and the veneration of images (icons, statues, etc.).  We even discussed the Eucharist at some length; the JW's hold the curious view that Jesus only intended it to be celebrated once a year, like the Passover.

However, two topics stood out among the others, the divinity of Christ, and the value of human wisdom, i.e. philosophy.

Anyone who knows anything about the Jehovah's Witnesses knows that they do not believe in the Incarnation, the doctrine that God became man in the person of Jesus Christ.  It is precisely belief in this doctrine (along with the attendant doctrine of the Trinity, that there are three Persons in one God) that distinguishes one as "Christian".  Thus, all Christians--Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant--as well as the JW's themselves, are in agreement in that the JW's are not, strictly speaking, "Christian".

And, on some level, the fact that the JW's are not Christian, that they do not believe in the divinity of Christ or in the Trinity, makes sense.  After all, in addition to the aforementioned doctrines, they also believe in an extreme form of "sola scriptura", the doctrine that "Scripture alone" is the source of Christian faith.  This idea, which originated with Martin Luther, has been held by all Protestants in some form or another since the Reformation in the sixteenth century.

For fundamentalists, this doctrine extends even to their method of Biblical interpretation.  If one's method is not itself derived from Scripture, then it is unworthy of consideration.  Thus, the Western (i.e. Greek) philosophical tradition, which has guided the Church in its interpretation of Scripture for centuries, is casually dismissed as "mere human wisdom".  Hence I say that it makes sense that the JW's do not believe in the divinity of Christ or in the Trinity.

After all, Scripture never explicitly says that Christ is divine.  Or, to parse it in philosophical terms, Scripture never says that the Father and the Son, while distinct persons, nonetheless share a divine nature.  Still less does Scripture say that the Spirit is a distinct person from both the Father and the Son, but an equal sharer in the divine nature.  As a Catholic, the ambiguity of Scripture on these essential points does not trouble me.  I rely on reason, on "mere human wisdom", to infer these things from the Biblical texts.

As I have said before, in other places, it seems very much that fundamentalists (and JW's certainly come under the "fundamentalist" umbrella) expend much effort convincing themselves that they do not have a "hermeneutic", a method of Biblical interpretation, beyond "open, read, understand".  If others have a hermeneutic that leads to conclusions different than their own, then they are exalting "mere human wisdom" above the Word itself!  Fundamentalists do not, perhaps cannot, realize that that this attitude is itself a hermeneutic, a method of interpretation.

How to argue with such absurdity?  In the end, you can't, at least not in a compelling way.  Fundamentalism occurs at the intersection of great passion and great ignorance.  And there is no arguing with ignorance.  As Scripture says, "Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest you be like him yourself" (Prov 24).  And as Jesus says, "Do not throw your pearls before swine," they don't know what to do with them (Mat 7:6).  It may sound cliche, but all one can do is love them and pray for them.  So when I parted with my new JW friends I smiled, shook their hands, and took their literature with a promise to read it.

Meanwhile, I pray that the Spirit of Truth, who was breathed into Adam, giving him the ability to know and to understand--to philosophize!--may be breathed into them, and into us also, and guide us into all truth.

Check out this video featuring the very lucid and ever-insightful Jimmy Akin on the Church Fathers and Philosophy:

The Gospel According to U2

This past Sunday, which also happened to be the Feast of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, known colloquially by its Latin name Corpus Christi, I had the great privilege of seeing U2 live in concert.  The event was rescheduled from last year's original date, which was to bring the Irish rock legends to Spartan Stadium... before Bono threw out his back.  The co-occurrence of this concert and the liturgical fest is of no small import, as I will explain below.

But first, permit me to say that I believe U2 to be one of the most positive forces on the artistic scene today.  Anyone who is even slightly familiar with their music knows that it frequently speaks to spiritual, even explicitly Christian, themes.  Consider lyrics such as "You broke the bonds and you loosed the chains/ Carried the cross of my shame/ O my shame, you know I believe it"?  Or, "The real battle just begun/ To claim the victory Jesus won/ On Sunday, Bloody Sunday"? 

Lest anybody doubt the Christian commitments of the U2 front man, I recall an excerpt I read recently from his interview-style biop.  When asked about his own religious convictions, Bono responds with candor and no small amount of theological depth: 

I'd be in big trouble if Karma was going to finally be my judge. I'd be in deep s---. It doesn't excuse my mistakes, but I'm holding out for Grace. I'm holding out that Jesus took my sins onto the Cross, because I know who I am, and I hope I don't have to depend on my own religiosity.... The point of the death of Christ is that Christ took on the sins of the world, so that what we put out did not come back to us, and that our sinful nature does not reap the obvious death. That's the point. It should keep us humbled . It's not our own good works that get us through the gates of heaven. (From Bono: In Conversation with Michka Assayas)

Um... wow.  

So what does U2 have to do with the most Holy Eucharist (despite goofy Anglican attempts to integrate their music into worship)?  I would suggest that the lads not only preach a very Eucharistic message, in the form of their music, but live a very Eucharistic life.  


The great gift of the Eucharist is not only the opportunity for real, physical and spiritual communion with Jesus Christ, but also the grace that empowers us to be Eucharist for others.  Christ, in His humility and love, comes to us in the form of bread and wine, to be our spiritual food and drink.  As He did two thousand years ago on Calvary, when He gave up His own life that we might have life, so He continues to do today, wherever the Mass is celebrated.  In the Eucharist, Jesus says to us, "Freely you have received; freely give" (Matthew 10:8).


This message of Christ is also the message of U2.  Bono is one of the greatest philanthropists in the world.  Consider the ONE campaign to cancel Third World debt, and the RED campaign for AIDS relief in Africa, each founded through the magnanimity of Bono.  I would suggest that it is not coincidental that Bono, who is a committed Christian, is also so giving.  Charity is the heart of the Christian life, and Bono has learned that virtue in the school of the Eucharist.  

Dominican Sojourn

I recently had the pleasure of meeting many of the Dominican Friars of the Province of Saint Albert the Great (Central U.S.A.), which is based in Chicago. The occasion was the Solemn Profession of vows of one of their lay brothers--in Dominican parlance, "cooperator brothers"--Brother Paul Byrd, O.P. Everyone should read his excellent blog about the life and work of a Dominican Cooperator Brother.

After the Mass, in which Brother Paul professed perpetual poverty, chastity and obedience, his Dominican brothers hosted a dinner reception. I'll say this: the Dominicans are a lively bunch! After everyone had taken their seats at table, in walked Brother Paul, who was greeted with cheers, applause, and no small amount of banging on tables and twirling of napkins. Wine was served, and as dinner was ending, a positively ancient Friar rose to propose a toast to Fr. Michael, who has served as Prior Provincial for the past eight years. He received a standing ovation from his brothers.

"Dominican joy" is a common theme in the life and work of the Order of Preachers. Founded by St. Dominic de Guzmán in Spain in the thirteenth century, the Order was largely committed to the correction of Albigensianism. Albigensianism is essentially an iteration of Manichaeism, which is partly a perversion of Platonism, whereby the material world--particularly the human body--is believed to be inherently evil. According to this most un-Christian of doctrines, the body is not to be disciplined, by flagellation or fast, but destroyed. In the squalor of the thirteenth century city, the Albigensians were to be seen on every street corner, telling the poor that they were better off for their woes. Amidst this absurdity entered the white-robed Friars who stubbornly insisted that "God saw everything that He had made, and behold, it was very good" (Gen 1:31).

There is, indeed, some truth to the phrase, "there is nothing good or evil but thinking makes it so." Or, as Chesterton rephrases, "there are no bad things but only bad thoughts; and especially bad intentions," and if the path to hell be paved with anything, the one thing it cannot be paved with is good intentions. Drink is not evil, nor even drinking; only drunkenness is contrary to the Divine Will. And as Augustine advises, "few are they whose sins should be treated with severity."

Which is, perhaps, why Dominicans enjoy life so much; at least, they enjoy those things that make life worth living: food, drink, friends, laughter, art, religion. In fact, as I dined with my new Dominican friends, I could not help but think of Belloc's famous rhyme:

Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine,
There’s always laughter and good red wine.
At least I’ve always found it so.
Benedicamus Domino!